


Looking Glass

by Mogseltof



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Death, Existentialism, Explicit Language, F/F, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4473593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mogseltof/pseuds/Mogseltof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If a dream is a wish your heart makes, a nightmare is a memory you want to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MakeAStriderSmile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakeAStriderSmile/gifts).



As was the usual course of things, Rose was the first to notice. She paused in the hall, by the mirror, glanced at her profile, checked the other side, tugged her fringe, and frowned.  
  
"Are you alright?" Dave asked, leaning on the wall. "We're gonna be late, Jesus."  
  
"Do pass on my apologies," Rose said crisply. "I have a pressing matter to attend to."  
  
Dave rolled his eyes behind his ever present sunglasses - she could always tell - and she left him behind her, padding back up the stairs. She passed her shared bedroom, at this time of day Kanaya would be in her sewing room at any rate, and instead went straight to the suite shared by Karkat and Dave, knocking on the door briefly before opening it.  
  
Karkat blinked up at her from the beanbag on the floor, claws curled delicately around one of the books from her collection. "What," he said testily, "do you want?"  
  
"Can you cut my hair?" Rose said awkwardly, leaning on the door. "You've seen the mess Kanaya makes of other people's, and I honestly don't trust Dave not to try and mess with me."  
  
"Sure," Karkat said, surprising the both of them. He carefully bookmarked the novel and stood up, brushing off his jeans. "What could possibly go fucking wrong?"

Rose smiled at him and offered her hand, which he awkwardly ignored. It was a shame, she reflected, her housemates’ insistence on keeping their boundaries. Everything would go so much better if they wouldn’t.

She followed Karkat downstairs, plotting as she went. It had been their fault the four of them had moved in together, after all, it made sense for her and Karkat to work on their relationship independent of Dave and Kanaya. Besides, Dave and Kanaya spent plenty of time holed up in her sewing room, going over jacket seams and trouser hems, no one should have any complaints if she tried to actually corner Karkat into conversation while they stole books off each other’s shelves.

In the bathroom Karkat dug around until he found Kanaya’s clipper kit, pulling out the pair of scissors that would go best on human hair (“I use it on my own, usually,” he’d explained in a careful monotone, “apparently I’m not as fucking wiry in that respect as an ordinary goddamn troll”) and giving her an inquisitive look over the electric clippers.

“Use the number three,” Rose said, with a short nod, and she ducked back around the corner to fetch one of the stools from the kitchen bench. Karkat looked distinctly nervous when she came back, a towel draped over one arm. “Just for the back of my head,” she said, to reassure him.

Karkat didn’t look soothed. “If I fuck this up you’re not allowed to hold it against me,” he said in warning. Rose gave him an arch look as she settled on the stool and secured the towel around her shoulders, and Karkat turned faintly red, grumbling under his breath as he plugged the clippers into the wall.

The low buzz started up, and Karkat rested a hand on her shoulder, gently pressing the clippers to the nape of her neck. She eased back into his touch with a soft sigh. “Halfway up,” she murmured, her eyes closing. “About where you go to on Dave.”

“You should look in the mirror, so you can stop me,” Karkat said, rubbing a thumb on her shoulder as he moved the clippers in measured strokes.

“No,” Rose said, keeping her head perfectly still. “I trust your judgement, I believe.” Karkat huffed again, and she smiled, knowing full well she’d scored another blush (that was two up on Dave, now). Karkat did Dave’s hair, usually, whenever it got too shaggy around the edges -

_Karkat pushed his head down firmly, running the clippers up his neck. “Ow,” Dave said, utterly deadpan. (He meant it though, all four of them knew that, and she saw Karkat’s grip lessen slightly, holding his neck more tenderly)_

_Kanaya laughed, dropping her stitch, and Rose leant over their hands to tease it back out of the wool once more. “So don’t bitch so much about going to hairdressers!” Karkat said, exasperated, inspecting the line across Dave’s head._

_“None of them know how to handle me like you do,” Dave said sardonically, and his shades were hanging far enough off his face that his eyes, dancing with hidden laughter, caught Rose’s._

\- and she’d seen the end results often enough to know that Karkat did actually know his way around a pair of scissors.

“God only knows why,” Karkat muttered. The pad of his thumb was warm through the fabric of Rose’s top, and she hummed lightly, discordant to the sound of the clippers. They stopped. “That’s where your usual line sits,” Karkat said, his hand leaving her shoulder.

Rose shook her head. “Cut off the fringe,” she told him, opening her eyes. “Something drastic is in order today. Let’s flip all of the proverbial shits in hair styles.”

Karkat gave her a dubious look, but picked up the scissors.

Dave laughed for ten minutes straight when he got home.

*             *             *

                “You understand, Ms… Er.”

                “Lalonde,” she supplied, crossing her legs at the knee.

                The man on the other side of the desk nodded hastily, and visibly dragged his eyes away from her bare knees, sliver of thigh, and the woman named Lalonde sighed internally. “Ahem. You understand, Ms Lalonde, that the market for this genre of book, especially in your target demographic, is rather limited.”

                Lalonde waited patiently, one eyebrow half raised, her expression otherwise polite and unwavering. The man behind the desk looked at her expectantly. “I have faith in the merits of my work,” she said crisply, eventually, the awkward projection of a professional veneer on her nineteen year old frame.

                The man sighed. “Look, you’re good,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows, his hands spread wide and placating.

                Nine - oh - six am, Lalonde thought, taking in the two empty coffee cups already sitting on his desk. Oh well, at least her first rejection of the day would be out of the way nice and early. She smoothed the black of her skirt under carefully painted lilac nails, and schooled her expression.

                “…So I can sign you to a single run of this first book at this stage, but I can’t guarantee there’ll be many copies, or even that we’ll pick up the other two - unless your sales are _exceptional_ of course-” punctuated with a dry laugh.

                “Wait, this isn’t a rejection?” Lalonde blurted suddenly, her hands clenching in her skirt. Shamefully, she felt every inch of her respective youth, and she tried not to blush at the unseemly interjection.

                The man paused, and gave her a bemused smirk, which she immediately resented. “My dear girl-” oh God she was going to break his nose “- I don’t make appointments for _rejected_ manuscripts.”

                Lalonde failed and flushed, almost angry, though at herself or him she couldn’t tell, and accepted the sheath of paperwork he slid across to her. She read each line as religiously as the price tags on bottom shelf merlot, his voice washing over her as he explained her options for editing and the set up with the agent she’d be recommended, how lucky she was to get chosen like this, how even if this book bombed she’d have opportunities -

                She signed, the cramped letters of her name piling up like a train crash, blurring into each other.

                When she got outside, a copy of the contract clutched in hand, she blinked in the fresh air and sunlight. A wide smile crept over her face without any input from her brain. It made a nice change, to have a pleasant start to her day for once. She pulled her phone out and put the letters “TG” into her contacts list, bringing up the contact singular in that it had no other details aside from those letters and the number.

**Well, I have had an auspicious start to the day!**

                She pocketed her phone again and started walking, vaguely set upon a destination of a coffee shop where she could discreetly collapse. She needn’t have bothered though, her phone buzzing back nigh instantaneously.

**jesus fuck woman why are you up at the crack of dawns ass  
you have no right to be so fucking chipper do you have any idea what time it is young lady**

**If you were a baker, your day would be half over already, for shame, you slovenly heathen you.**

**and if i were a smarter man blocking your number would be the first thing i did every time i got a new phone**

**How terribly discourteous of you.**

**rich coming from someone who wont even tell me their name or how they keep on getting my number**   
**srsly how many watchlists are you on**   
**we can compare**   
**whats dragged you out of hungover stupor at this ungodly hour anyway**

**In six weeks I will officially be joining the ranks of the published! My first novel got picked up.  
What force on earth could possibly persuade you to respond to prodding before three pm?**

**gratz**   
**i haven’t gone to bed yet**   
**some of us have busy busy lives that don’t involve peddling our wares to uninterested publishers**

**Get fucked.**

**always aim to  
you gonna sell me the film rights then**

**Lets try putting the horse first and make sure it doesn’t keel over, then I’ll start thinking about the cart.**

*             *             *

“So.”

“Yes.”

“Um.”

“Fuck.” Karkat awkwardly took a gulp of his too hot coffee, wincing internally. Kankri wasn’t even looking at him, and in the fifteen minutes they’d been shunted off into this corner of the kitchen, they hadn’t said a single word to each other. Ordinarily, this would have been a blessing, the kind of situation Karkat would have prayed for with Kankri.

In actuality, it was just fucking depressing. Karkat had been avoided before, but never in person, and never by someone who was so painfully _bad_ at it.

“I wanted to apologise,” Kankri said stiffly all of a sudden, and Karkat froze.

 _Fuck_. He glanced around, desperate for a way out and finding none. Kankri continued, staring down into his cup, refusing to make eye contact. “I acted harshly and without considering the full expanse of your culture and history, or the impact my words could have, and I believe that lead to us initially getting off on the wrong foot. So I wanted to apologise.” He looked up, pinning Karkat against the counter with a stare, daring him to throw the words back in his face.

“I… I accept your apology?” Karkat said cautiously, and Kankri relaxed.

“Thank you,” he said, draining his mug and depositing it in the sink before absconding like the red miles were not only back in business but out for his ass.

Karkat watched him go, stunned for a moment. “What the _fuck_.”

*             *             *

             The Empress _glittered_. There was no other word for it. She was impressive, tall, almost willowy - not that he could be fooled by that, he’d seen her bare armed and bearing arms, the impressive culling fork that stood taller than her wielded as though it were no heavier than a feather. The Imperial Sentinel sat across from him, a wanted fugitive, and she was giving him a serious look.

             He inspected her with a practised eye. When she leant back her floaty shift moved over her shoulder, showing the scar where he’d actually managed to stab her two sweeps previous. (He could still remember the anger in her eyes as the tyrian blood sprayed into his face and his sickle snapped at the unnatural angle.) He hadn’t realised he’d gotten her so _deep_.

             There was a pause, and she nodded. The attending officers filed out, one giving her a guarded look over their shoulder. A tall rustblood, curiously enough. Her horns sparked some memory in him, but it faded before the door clicked locked behind her.

             The Imperial Sentinel, Beloved Empress, and representative of the gracious peace of the Beforan Empire, came around the table and unlocked the chains from around his hands. “Whale Mr Vantas, you are a reelly hard troll to pin down!”

             Vantas looked down at his hands, then back up at the Empress, who was giving him a bubbly smile and leaning on the table. “Uh,” he began, wordless for the first time in sweeps. “No offense, but what the _fuck_?”

             She laughed, and pulled her legs up onto the table, crossing them underneath her. “Whale, I thought it would be rude to write up a treaty without consulting the leader of the group I’m trying to parley with! And between you and me, my High Priestess can be a reel eel beach when it comes to getting things done the way she sees them,” she said, leaning on one knee and dropping a wink at him.

             Vantas was suddenly struck by how young she was - she’d only ascended the throne when he was, what? Eight? “I thought you were going to have me killed,” he said carefully. His hands in his lap felt heavier than they had in the chains.

             Her jaw slackened, forming a perfect ‘o’, and her fins fluttered in shock. “ _Krill_ you? Shell no! You stabbed me!” She said that as if it explained everything. At the blank look he gave her, she sighed. “You have the tactical brilliance to not only coordinate an effective attack while vastly outnumbered, but to also manoeuvre it so that _you_ were the one to take me on directly,” she said brusquely. “It was stupid, and I’d fire any one of my generals who attempted it, but you managed it, and survived.”

             He was still staring at her blankly.

             “Holy ship!” she exclaimed. “Even if I didn’t want to make peace - which I glubbing _do_ \- I wouldn’t have you krilled!” Her hands flew up in an exasperated gesture. “I’d want you to work for me!”

             Vantas spluttered. “Are you out of your gods damned _mind_? I’m the fucking antithesis of everything you stand for-”

             “Everything the old system I’ve been _dismantling_ stood for,” she said, giving him a thoroughly unimpressed look. “Honestly, I thought you were smarter than that. Why do you think you’ve had so much military support from highbloods?”

             “Coldbloods,” Vantas snapped stubbornly. She was right, which was the infuriating thing. Most of the trolls he managed to attract from her end of the hemospectrum had little to no interest in their worth as equals, but he’d been managing them.

             “I can’t afford to fight this war on both fronts,” she said flatly, all traces of the bubbly, carefree composure gone. “The killing, all this blood based beast ship, it has to stop.”

             Vantas nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and he leant forward, leaning his arms on the table. “Alright. Let’s talk some fucking terms,” he said, and her face split into a wide grin.

*             *             *

Dave walked into the camera shop, cradling the cracked lens like it was a wounded child. “I think I need a ‘replacement’,” he told the sales girl, mouthing the last word and holding the lens as if he were covering its ‘ears’. She laughed, and took it from him, promising to go looking for an appropriate brand and size.

He gave her a brief flicker of a grin before wandering through the shop, picking things up and giving them a bored, cursory examination before putting them down again. He paused over a film camera, on display for a store special. He fiddled with the settings for a moment and recorded a few seconds of his feet pacing along the carpet.

It felt comfortable in his hands, like the pressure of his shades on his nose. Reassuring, almost.

When the sales girl came back with his replacement lens, Dave let her sweet talk him into getting a warranty, and he made uncertain noises about the film camera. She grinned and discounted it a little more for him. He was tearing the packaging off to pull it out even as he walked out of the store.

Karkat eyed him suspiciously over his coffee when Dave came back in through the back door, and Rose looked up from her book at the counter. “Glad to see you’ve been dragged kicking and screaming into the nineteen nineties,” she said derisively, flicking over the camera with her eyes and returning to her book.

Dave flipped her off without looking up, and leant against the kitchen counter. Karkat sighed, faux aggravated and handed him the mug he’d just filled, and Dave leant in and kissed his cheek, eyes still glued to the camera. “What have you got?” Karkat asked him, running the coffee machine again and leaning next to him.

Dave tucked an arm around his waist and hummed, noncommitting.

Karkat snorted and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Right. If you ever rejoin the land of the verbal, let me know.” He stayed where he was though, and Dave’s humming lilted upwards for a moment, rubbing his thumb in a quick circle on Karkat’s waist. Karkat sighed and rested his head on Dave’s shoulder, the coffee machine running behind them. “Do you really need another camera? I thought you were just replacing a lens?”

Dave silently disengaged his arm from around Karkat’s waist and pulled out the lens from his pocket, depositing it carelessly on the bench before looping his arm back with a huff of air.

“…Right,” Karkat said slowly. The coffee machine beeped completion, and he reached around and snagged the cup without looking. (Dave spent a moment contemplating the fact that his boyfriend drank too much coffee, but pushed it aside with a mental shrug.) Dave leant back into him, tilting the camera to pan jaggedly along the kitchen bench, capturing the tile, two coffee cups, Rose glaring at him over the top of her book, and her day bag half spilled over the bench.

The battery beeped three times and the screen went black. Dave made a disappointed moue and set it down, picking up the coffee Karkat had given him instead.

“Why did you buy one of those things?” Rose asked irritably, setting her book down and leaning across the counter.

Dave shrugged, nosing a kiss to Karkat’s neck, because he could and because Rose detested PDA (and because Karkat liked it, but would never initiate it, but that wasn’t funny, just sweet), and took a long sip of the coffee. “Because it looked like fun. Plus it looks like an ancient handheld but works like a modern camera with the tracking settings.” He could make terrible nineties home videos in the twenty first century with a camera capable of being so much better than that. What other reason could he need?

Rose sneered, her lip curling upward, and she picked up the book again, rustling the pages loudly. “Oh, because it was _fun_ , do forgive me for thinking you might have an actual _reason_ ,” she said sourly, pressing a hand to her head. Her tea sat by her elbow, largely untouched.

Karkat gave her a sharp, concerned look, but Dave had stopped beating around the bush where Rose was concerned years ago -

_“Hey Rose, are you on your period?”_

_“…Fuck you, and yes, why?”_

_“Can I have a tampon?”_

_“Oh, yes, sure.”_

\- “What stick’s up your ass? Kanaya’s morning spelunk get interrupted or something?” Dave asked idly.

Rose’s book slammed down on the counter. “And you can fuck right off,” she said conversationally, pushing herself up off her stool, abandoning book and tea, and starting upstairs with a sharp clatter.

“Okay, normally she’s quicker on the riposte than that,” Dave commented with a small frown. “I wasn’t further off than I usually am, was I?”

Karkat shook his head. “She has a headache,” he said, draining the last of his coffee, and Dave glanced down at his still mostly full cup with a raised eyebrow. He set it down; he was growing the taste for caffeine, but it wasn’t quite all encompassing yet. He hiked himself up onto the bench and reached into his shopping bag to grab the charging cord and plug the new camera in.

Karkat watched him, eyes narrowing, and stepped forward, between Dave’s knees, his hands resting on Dave’s thighs. “Why _did_ you buy a new camera?” he asked, suspiciously, and when Dave opened his mouth he cut it off with a quick kiss. “No, not ‘because it looked fun’, whenever the fuck you think you might even so much as change to a new goddamn _brand_ of printer ink for your photos you spend four weeks researching colour wheels and moaning to the fucking skies about a lack of comprehensive data on side by side company comparisons, because you’re a fussy, anal retentive ass who gets stuck in your ways as badly as I do.”

“It felt right,” Dave said, helplessly.

“Uhuh,” Karkat said, unimpressed. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“No, seriously,” Dave protested. “It just, seemed cool, I literally just picked it up on a whim, and then I didn’t want to stop using it, like, at all. Feels like I already know what I’m doing with it, I just,” he huffed, making a frustrated hand gesture. One hand was strangely weighty, and he realised he was holding the camera again.

Karkat gave him a concerned look and took it out of Dave’s hand. “…Okay then,” he said slowly.

Dave thunked his head against Karkat’s chest with a weighty sigh. “Urgh. I really pissed Rose off.”

“Yeah, you did,” Karkat said unhelpfully, and Dave brought his head up to give him a dry look.

Karkat pulled his shades off and kissed him slowly. “She’ll get over it,” he said, sliding a hand up to Dave’s waist. “She always does.”

The camera beeped enough charge to turn on, and Dave lunged for it. Karkat made a loud, annoyed noise. “Holy shit, this is going to be like when you got your first Canon, isn’t it?”

“What d’you mean?” Dave asked absently, leaning half across the counter, inspecting the screen avidly.

“I’d say you have the attention span of a fly,” Karkat said, and something about the temperature of his tone made Dave drag his eyes back up, guiltily, “but that would imply you could pull yourself away from the fucking camera for more than fifteen seconds.” His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was scowling. “What I mean, is that tonight’s date night, and if the camera gets more attention than I do you are _not_ getting laid.”

Dave put the camera down, his fingers twitching. “Sorry,” he said guiltily. “I just, special interested all over it, it’s really hard not to touch it when it’s _right there_ with a shitton of effects and settings I haven’t _used_ yet-”

Karkat lost the fight to keep scowling, and instead hugged him low around the waist, kissing his neck. “I know, I’m sorry,” he muttered. Dave swayed into him, running a hand through his hair with an appreciative hum.

“S’okay. I didn’t realise it bothered you,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Karkat’s head.

“Doesn’t. Well, not usually,” Karkat amended, not moving. “It’s… Nice, actually, seeing you so intense about something. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” He frowned, the motion strange against Dave’s shoulder. “Come to think of it, neither did Rose or Kanaya. Congratulations, you win the award of most fucking sleep in the house and I don’t think I even remember you coming to bed.”

Dave shook his head. “That’s because I didn’t. Fell asleep on my computer last night and had a dream about dying, so I just didn’t go to sleep again.”

“Dave, you know you can wake me up for shit like that,” Karkat said, reproachful, and Dave shrugged.

“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to.”

Karkat snorted. A door slammed somewhere on the upper floor, and loud, angry violin music started to reverberate down the hall. Dave winced. “You know, I think I’m going to let Rose marinate ~~for a~~ while she does the Sherlock Holmes thing before I apologise.” He carefully slithered around Karkat in a series of quick movements and hopped off the bench, interlacing their fingers and tugging them in the direction of the stairs.

Karkat followed him without pause. “What are we doing then?” he asked, still suspicious.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t think aggravating Rose any more will improve your life expectancy.”

Dave paused on the first couple of stairs and pouted at him. “I was just going to suggest that since neither of us got very much sleep last night we should go upstairs and take a nap,” he said, his eyebrows waggling.

“You are _not_ subtle,” Karkat said dryly, but he followed Dave up the stairs all the same.

Dave laughed lightly and pulled Karkat into their room, toeing the door shut behind them. The violin music was tapering off as they found their way over to the bed, but Dave pushed it out of his mind, turning his focus onto Karkat instead.

It didn’t take long for Dave to exhaust him, lulling him into the sleep he so dearly needed. Dave waited for his breathing to slow and even out, simply sitting with Karkat until he was well and ready to do what he had to.

Carefully, Dave extricated himself from Karkat’s arms, and grabbed his shades. He pulled a pair of pyjama pants on, tied them at the waist, and padded quietly down the hall to Rose and Kanaya’s room. The violin had long since stopped, and from behind the door he could hear the rapid fire clicks of what was probably an FPS.

When he raised his hand to knock, Rose said “Come in,” sharply, and he opened the door instead.

Rose pulled the headset off, typed something undoubtedly scathing, and closed whichever game was open. “What is it?” she asked testily.

“Wanted to apologise,” Dave said with a half shrug, uneasy, leaning against her doorframe.

Rose sighed, a small motion that he nearly missed. “I should too, I was feeling bad and took it out on you, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Dave said, picking himself up and stepping into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. “I’m sorry for being a dick to you about it.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, nudging Kanaya’s desk chair over to him, and he sat on it. “So the new camera is good?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Dave said, leaning forward on his knees. “Kinda weird.”

Rose’s eyebrows met over her nose. “Weird? Weird how?”

Dave shrugged. “You ever get déjà vu?”

Rose leaned back in her chair with a sigh.

*             *             *

                There was always a sword. There was also, unfortunately, an appropriate time and place for swords, and the red carpet wasn’t one of them. He blinked, eyes nearly aching in his skull from the camera flashes even through his sunglasses. How was protective eyewear _not_ on a recommended equipment list for film premieres?

                Cameras flashed, and he gulped, resisting the urge to fiddle with his tie. Why hadn’t he worn a nicer suit? Oh yeah, he didn’t own one. _Get it together_ , his subconscious whispered in the back of his head, critical and soothing at the same time, _its just like any other premiere_.

                Except it’s _not_.

                This is so far from the last three films he launched, he’s frozen on the carpet. He _has_ a carpet, not a scrap of red fabric one of his student friends threw on the floor for him as a laugh. He got picked up by a known production company, someone took _interest_ in what he was doing, and now there’s these articles about how intriguing his work is, about the satire he makes of the film industry and the oversaturisation of meaning and symbolism and that’s _not what it’s about -_

                Okay. Maybe a little of it was poking fun, and some of it he just straight up ignores it, or inverts it because fuck emotional colour theory to be honest, he’s not making Pushing Goddamn Daisies, but he _is_ a director, and none of this was meant to be taken _seriously_.

                There’s another swell of applause, and he can hear the laughing greetings of his star actors, and he forces himself to keep walking up the carpet. It is just another premiere after all, he has nothing to be afraid of, he knows what he’s walking into, or at least he _should_ he’s practically breathed it for the last six months after all.

                What he doesn’t know is why anyone cares, it’s exactly the same as what he’s been doing, but stupider. Not even the good kind of stupid, it’s so stupid it passes through being good again and straight back into stupid. That was why he wrote it, why he made it, because it was stupid and he wanted to.

                “Strider!” He glances up into the pasted - on press grin of one of his stars as a hand presses into his back. His skin crawls infinitesimally, but he doesn’t shake away. “Let’s get a picture, huh?” He nods.

                Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff goes _viral what the fuck._ He can’t shake the feeling he couldn’t have stopped it, even if he’d wanted to.

*             *             *

There was the familiar clack of the sewing machine going when Dave came down the stairs, and he took a deep breath before going into the kitchen. He needed to arm himself. The tea Kanaya drank was easy enough to make, and he fetched a cup of coffee for himself while the kettle boiled.

He nudged the door to her sewing room open and stepped in. Kanaya paused for a moment and gave him a smile, the room illuminated only by herself and the tiny light on the machine. She reached out, accepting the mug, and Dave settled himself on the other side of the machine, leaning back on the chair there.

“You’ll never get back to sleep with that,” she said, nodding at his mug, and the machine started up again.

Dave shrugged. “Don’t really feel like sleeping.”

“I know how you feel,” Kanaya said dryly, and Dave laughed.

“Bonuses of vampirism.”

“Yes, as a fearsome daywalker the most terrifying aspect of my heightened abilities is that I don’t need to chug redbull in order to stay up til sunset.” Kanaya cut off the stitch and inspected the cloth with a small frown. “Would you mind if I draped this over you? I need to see how it hangs.”

Dave nodded and reached over to rest his coffee mug on a table in between a few embroidery magazines. Kanaya beckoned him over, and draped what was apparently a buttoned shirt over his shoulders. “What’s this for?”

“You,” Kanaya said, tugging at the base of the shirt. “Since you and Karkat apparently don’t believe in updating your wardrobe at all, ever, and I cringe at the idea of you hitting up places with actual dress codes while still wearing ratty sweaters and worn through jeans.”

“Kanaya-”

Kanaya pricked him with a pin and twitched a small smile at him. “Let me fuss,” she said, pinning a panel in place and prompting him to take it off. “I know you have something of a semblance for fashion recognition, I have seen your suits.”

Dave made a face. “The fussing may be allowed, especially if it results in rad shirts like this. What stitch are you using?”

Kanaya beckoned him over, and Dave dragged his chair around to examine what she was doing. It was different to the stitches he was used to using - but then, this wasn’t a puppet, either.

“What made you wake up?” she asked, pausing to flex her fingers and sip her tea.

Dave shrugged. “Just wasn’t tired, I guess.”

Kanaya swatted him lightly. “Ah, yes, and Karkat has been sleeping like a small child, and Rose hasn’t been waking up nauseous for no apparent reason. You’ve gotten what, four hours of sleep in the last five days?”

Dave sighed. “Well, say a guy is used to bad dreams of the flavour of swords everywhere and giant fiery apocalypses, sleep isn’t exactly the fun time kiddy joint at the rollercoaster factory, but at least it’s familiar, y’know?”

“I know,” Kanaya said patiently, folding her hands in her lap and looking at him expectantly. “Fiery apocalypse being a familiar topic for everyone in this household you might even say I know fucking well.”

“So what if you dream of deaths you don’t remember and apocalypses of a different flavour to the cool ranch everyday variety you’ve gotten your dream taste buds used to? I mean, when walking down the dorito aisle you can see your standard dream deaths, the ones you know, your original, nacho, extra cheese, and meteors raining down like too many packets of shitty cool ranch.”

“I don’t eat doritoes.”

“That is never the point, though we’ll have to come back to that blasphemy against snack food at a later date, honestly ‘Naya.”

“Do you have a point or should I provide one?”

“Keep your pincushion of prickly death away from me. What I mean is suddenly the dreams are less your standard selection of flavoured tortilla chips and suddenly I’ve been thrust ass first into this unfamiliar bag of spicy roulette bullshit where half the time it’s just like I’m drinking coffee and taking pictures and making shitty Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff jokes, but they’re not the ones I know I made, and then I hit that one in ten capsaicin coated death chip and as per usual, sword bullshit everywhere, honest to me how many times do I have to die from misadventure by shitty fake Japanese steel, but it’s not a sword I know or a place I’ve been or anything like that, and then it’s a whole different kettle of doritoes and the apocalypse is happening but nary a spicy meteor in sight.” Dave shrugged and fell silent, suddenly wishing he’d grabbed his shades off his bedside table so Kanaya wouldn’t be able to see that he was avoiding her gaze.

“I hear conversations,” she said quietly, after a beat, and the sewing machine started up again. “I’m worried about Rose, so I’ve been avoiding telling her, she doesn’t need to worry about my mental stability when she’s going through this.”

“Dude, _no_ ,” Dave said, leaning on the table. “She’s your partner, and she’s a canny bitch, she probably knows something’s up and is worrying more.”

“Which is why you’re still in pile with Karkat, soothing his brow so he understands why you’re not sleeping,” she said dryly. “I can keep a secret.” She sounded cranky, and Dave wondered if maybe the not sleeping thing was entirely healthy for her.

“Doesn’t mean you should, and I’m not waking Karkat up out of the most sleep he’s had consecutively in a week for this. We all dream about that bullshit.”

“Daydream,” Kanaya said with a sigh, cutting off the stitch and inspecting the other side of the fabric with a quick flip. “I’m getting something similar to your spicy roulette apocalypse, except it’s when my mind wanders and it’s like I’m somebody else. Fuck. I can’t focus on this now.” She carefully pulled the shirt away and folded it, sliding a couple of extra pins into place, and she set it on the table beside the machine.

“Like you’re somebody else but still you, and some of the others are there, but they’re not them?”

Kanaya looked up at him with one eye from where she was pressing her face into her hands and nodded. Dave tentatively reached out and rubbed a hand over her back. She leaned into his touch with a small sigh. “Yes. As if I’m somebody else, and seeing the others. Seeing them die, mostly.”

“Yeah,” Dave said, tiredly.

Kanaya fixed him with a look. “Go back to bed.”

He nodded and stood up, and Kanaya leaned on his hand to stand up herself. “D’you think a nap would help you out too?” he asked, and she shrugged in response.

They walked back up the stairs together, and Kanaya lingered in the doorway of his and Karkat’s room as he carefully shimmied back into bed. When he looked up at her, her eyes were following the rise and fall of Karkat’s chest, a strange expression on her face.

*             *             *

                When the General of the Empress’ army of congress died, there was a planet wide investigation. Healthy, middle aged trolls who lived through two reigns and three wars didn’t just drop dead, mutant or not, and the Empress herself wore a bright red band until his murderer was brought to justice.

                Officially the matter should have been left in the hands of the church, and the High Priestess had employed the services of her formidable matesprit, who had the highest count of arrests and executions of any member of the Service. Officially, as a matter of record, General Vantas died alone in his recuperacoon, due to failure of his pumpbiscuit, and church appointed investerrigators examined the untouched scene, and left to bring the killer to the blind judgement of the Courts of Prophistory.

                She could still see the scene in her mind’s eye, his blood everywhere, sickle still loosely clasped in one hand.

                His blood had turned the green slime of the ‘coon a murky, ghastly brown, and she had one of his horns as a morbid keepsake. She didn’t dare put it in her sylladex, knowing that if it was found on her she would face anger of imperial scale. She couldn’t allow herself to lose sight of it either, or she may very well lose sight of her goal.

                As far as clues went, a smear of purple blood did not really leave much to go on, unless she wanted to wander the planet with a paint swatch, cutting people open for a comparison test. And gods curse it, she was hungry again. She needed to stop thinking about blood.

                The light illuminating the path from her gloveless hand swelled for moment and she cursed under her breath, breathing deeply to try and bring her composure back to rights. It dimmed once more, and she peered around, paused on the side of the path to make sure there was no one out this early in the evening to see her mishap and true nature.

                When she found him, she could feed all she liked, she thought viciously. No one appeared out of the trees screaming about her supernatural nature, so she continued on. This would be a much easier task if she continued to walk in the day as she was wont, but her target did not possess her rather… specialised, set of skills, so she limited herself to his habits, circling him like a vicious bird of prey.

                His carcass was going to be magnificent. She could remember the first time she’d seen the birds eat someone. She’d barely been four sweeps, collecting the plants her lusus consumed as a treat, and the sun had beat down hotly on her back. Jade blood or no, summer was a dangerous time to be out after the moons had vanished from sight. She had been at the top of a rocky outcrop, carefully peering between the crags to try and find the rare flowers, when she’d heard the first scream. The troll, a desperate looking blue blood with skin that was more blistered than not, tried to run, but the birds were faster.

                Like those birds, she was not going to wait patiently for her prey to die of natural causes before she took her pound of flesh.

                Music was coming, faint to her ears, from a thicket of spiny bushes, and she smiled thinly beneath the black hood. If only her moirail could see how vicious she had become in the wake of so much death in her life. The glove slid back on over her wrist, and she engaged her strife specibus with a careless gesture. The jagged blade hummed in her hands, and her face glowed brighter than ever as she pulled her hood back and stepped into the clearing, eyes fixed on the pathetic excuse for a troll who had murdered her dearest friend.

                She was _starving_.

*             *             *

“Okay, but for real, you’re still writing wizard fic, right?” The fact that Roxy looked so anxious over her potential magnum opus was enough to make Rose laugh.

“Don’t be mean to me!” Roxy said, pointing her sundae spoon at Rose as if it were a weapon, but she was grinning as well. “That shit changed my life, it was _awesome_.”

“If I didn’t know you any better I’d say you had some kind of wizard fixation,” Rose said dryly, leaning over the table and stealing a swipe of Roxy’s chocolate sauce. Roxy grinned and stole some of Rose’s strawberry ice cream right back.

Calliope laughed at them, ice cream free, her sleeves narrowly avoiding being dipped into her milkshake. “She has a fair question, though! The work by you that I experienced was very good, it would be a disappointment if you didn’t pursue it.”

“That wasn’t _my_ work,” Rose said, an eyebrow rising involuntarily, and she pointed her own spoon at Calliope. “I’m sure they were good, but they weren’t written by _me_.”

Roxy giggled, high pitched and nervous, and Calliope shot her an anxious look. Rose’s fingers twitched; Gods, the tells these girls had. This was what growing up without being completely paranoid of what other people thought looked like, did it?

“So,” she said, leaning in over her bowl of ice cream like a shady conspirator from the spy films she had officially seen too many of (damnit, Jane). “What _were_ these books like?”

“Um, _spoilers_!” Roxy said, rapping Rose’s knuckles with her spoon. “Maybe you should write them and find out!”

*             *             *

TG: dirk  
TG: dirk  
TG: diiiiirk  
TG: cmon you dick youre online i can see you there

- **timaeusTestified is an idle chum!-**

TG: rude  
TG: extremely rude even

**-turntechGodhead has ceased pestering timaeusTestified!-**

- **arachnidsGrip is trolling grimAuxiliatrix!-**

GA: Can It Wait  
AG: wow rude  
AG: wh8 if its important????????  
GA: Isn’t It Always  
GA: You Can’t See It But I Am Sighing At You Even As I Put My Things Away  
GA: You May Commence Bashing My Auricular Clots  
AG: you mean gander8ul8s  
GA: No  
GA: You’re On A Text To Speech Program  
GA: ‘gander8ul8s’ Certainly Sounded Interesting  
AG: 8low me  
GA: Not Now Dear  
AG: woooooooow funnnnnnny  
AG: ANYWAY as i was saying!  
GA: I Feel I Should Point Out You Weren’t Saying Anything In Particular  
AG: for someone whos SOOOOOOOO busy you sure have time to interrupt me!!!!!!!!  
GA: I’m Sure I’m Very Sorry  
GA: Deep, Deep Down  
AG: i miss when you used to hang off my every word  
GA: Have You Been Fantasizing Again?  
AG: god i h8 you sometimes

**-timaeusTestified is pestering turntechGodhead!-**

TT: Sorry, I was doing something in another room.  
TG: your icon was lighting up like a christmas tree dude  
TG: if you dont wanna talk you can just say  
TG: and ill make like a tree and fuck off  
TT: That saying has never made a lick of sense to me.  
TG: maybe youre barking up the wrong one  
TT: Hilarious.  
TT: What did you want to talk about?

AG: have you 8een getting weird dreams????????  
GA: I Don’t Sleep

TG: oh you know just shooting the shit  
TG: howve you been  
TG: whatcha been up to  
TG: do you ever feel like your life is being absorbed by memories of someone you arent and is rapidly spiralling out of control due to impulses from a dead version of yourself who was never actually you  
TT: So real casual like then  
TG: fuck off

AG: you know wh8 i mean!!!!!!!!  
GA: Are You Referring Perhaps To The Sensation That You Are Someone Who Is Not Quite Yourself Living A Life That Should Not Be Yours  
GA: I Don’t Know If I Can Say For Sure  
AG: OH MY G8D!!!!!!!!  
GA: Yes  
GA: I Have Been Having Strange Waking Dreams  
AG: H8H!  
GA: That Was Only One Shout Pole  
AG: Are You Feeling Quite Well

TT: You’re the one that wanted to talk lil’man  
TG: …  
TG: please tell me you did not just type that with your own two hands  
TT: No I used someone else’s  
TT: Jesus what do you think  
TG: dirk what the fuck  
TT: Dirk ain’t in

**-turntechGodhead has blocked timaeusTestified!-**

AG: no  
GA: Oh  
GA: The Dreams Are Unsettling You  
AG: ……..  
GA: I’m Sorry, I Don’t Speak Dot Point  
AG: someones got sass today  
AG: theyre super unsettling ok!  
AG: are you happy????????  
GA: In General Yes  
GA: But I Understand  
GA: All Of The Death  
GA: The Disconcerting Feeling Of Not Being Yourself  
GA: Being In Completely Unfamiliar Surrounds That You Know Intimately As If It Were A Clear Memory  
AG: wh8????????  
AG: no!!!!!!!!  
AG: GOD youre such a weeny!  
GA: Wh8  
GA: *What  
AG: urgh!  
AG: she C8NT 8e ME!!!!!!!!  
AG: SHES SO 8ORING!!!!!!!!  
GA: What.  
GA: Vriska What The Hell  
AG: you c8nt tell me you think shes anything like ME!!!!!!!!  
GA: Everytime I Think I Have A Handle On How Vain And Self Absorbed You Are  
GA: You Manage To Surprise Me  
AG: wow RUDE  
GA: You Consistently Exceed My Expectations  
GA: Is That Better

*             *             *

                She was dying, she realised with a sudden spark of clarity, as the jade colour of her blood seeped through the front of her shirt. She tried to call out to her moirail - her anchor, her rudder - but the Captain’s back was turned, feet braced and sword hand steady even as blue blood dripped steadily down her drenched sleeve and onto her deck. All that came out of the dying woman’s mouth was more blood, jade clots and spray onto the rolling deck beneath her.

                The bayonet had ensured her death, even as she had ensured the death of the troll who killed her. His sightless violet eyes were staring at her, accusing, as she breathed in her last few gasps of air.

                There was an outraged scream and a splash, and a pair of bloody blue hands turned her over, frantic. She could barely feel them, even as her gaze turned to stare up into her moirail’s wrecked face. The Captain’s mouth was mouthing something - “ _No! No!_ ”

                She nodded slowly, hacking up more jade blood, onto the Captain’s ruined coat. Yes. Yes she was dying. The Captain clutched the neck of the bloody shirt and rocked over her body, pressing soft, chaste kisses to her face. Her vision was darkening, but she could see the exact moment the Captain’s life fled her.

                The long, metal claws pulled out of her torso with a sickening noise, and the Captain toppled back, dead, at the feet of a drenched, exhausted looking oliveblood. Her eyes widened at the sight of the dying jade, and she knelt, cradling her lolling head in lap. “Drink,” she urged, pressing a vial of blood to rapidly cooling lips. “Please, you don’t deserve this fate, drink.”

                For the first time, and regrettably not the last, the jade blooded woman with the aching gut wound drank the blood of another troll.

*             *             *

The room was strange, though not unpleasant, Lalonde decided, peering around. Nice tea selection, good window placement, all in all, a very well set up kitchen, though it was woefully lacking in alcohol. She shrugged, and reached for her flask in her sylladex, frowning when she couldn’t find either. Her inner pocket flask was missing as well - actually, her regular clothes with the handy pockets were missing too. She was a few inches shorter, she noted with some irritation, and her head felt strangely light.

Well. She boiled the kettle anyway, digging around in a container of tea bags for a type of green tea that seemed like it would taste okay. The kitchen was otherwise silent while the kettle boiled, and it took her a few moments to realise that she was no longer alone in the room.

“You move quietly,” she said without looking up as she poured the water into the mug.

“I have had a lot of practice,” the other woman said, in a strangely accented voice, like it took a great deal of precision to speak. Lalonde looked up over her mug and the remaining internal walls that weren’t already on high alert shifted to scream defensively.

The other woman was a troll, only a little taller than Lalonde herself, though she held her body as though she was uncomfortably trying to be taller. She didn’t look like the terrifying alien woman from her dreams, though. For one thing, instead of the hard black skin, she glowed a soft, pearly white. Her horns were a different shape, rounding to a point with on hooked, and she wore a black lipstick. Her eyes had jade green irises, rather than the dark fuchsia, and her hair was shortened, in a messy, low maintenance style.

“What are you?” the troll woman asked, her head tilted to one side. Her eyes narrowed a little, as if she were trying to figure out whether Lalonde was a threat or… prey. It wasn’t as condescending as the alien empress though, less of an impression that she was being considered like a mosquito.

“A human being,” she said mildly, taking a scalding sip of tea. “I take it you’re a troll, though I must admit, I didn’t think any of you possessed the ability to _glow_.”

“I’m a little different from most trolls.” The woman said, watching her drink. Her arms were folded loosely over her chest, and she had a searching gaze. A hungry one. “Only those of us who hunger for the blood of others act as pan able daybugs.”

“I’m going to pretend I understood those last few words,” Lalonde informed her, twitching a dark stained lip over the rim of her mug in a small smile. “Alien vampires, my my, what has my life come to.” She frowned, lowering her cup for a moment. “Actually, _is_ this life? I seem to recall dying with a rather disturbing clarity.”

“If I have learned anything, it’s that death is somehow less permanent than advertised,” the troll vampire said dryly. “Do you have a name, human being? Or is that your name, and you were attempting to correct me on a terribly impolite mistake that should never be made upon meeting an entirely new intelligent species.”

“Rose,” she said pleasantly. “I think, at any rate. It may have been something else, a long time ago.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Rose.” Her nose wrinkled. “How distressingly short. I’m… Kanaya, for now, it seems.”

“A lovely name for a lovely woman,” she said smoothly, taking another sip of her tea. “Can I get you something to eat or drink? You look famished.”

“Ravenous,” Kanaya said with a nod. “Though I doubt you keep many bottles of blood in your food cupboards or thermal hull.”

“Oh I wouldn’t know, I’ve not the faintest idea where we are,” Rose said brightly, smiling at her.

Kanaya actually laughed at that, her posture relaxing, and Rose found herself somewhat more comfortable as well. “Were you just going to offer me someone else’s food then?” Kanaya asked, propping one fist on her hip with an arched eyebrow. “And here I was worried about my own manners.”

Rose laughed and took a long drink from her pilfered mug of tea. “I have a feeling no one will mind. Do you subsist entirely off blood then? I imagine that gets boring.”

“I don’t know,”Kanaya said, measured, and there was a small smirk lingering on her lips. “Every now and then I get to try a new variety, it makes things interesting.”

“Like human blood?” Rose asked, setting her cup down on the counter.

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never tried it.” Kanaya started to walk across the kitchen.

“How disappointingly dull.” Kanaya had a couple of inches on her, so Rose hiked herself up to sit on the counter, giving herself a slight advantage.

Kanaya paused, mere inches from Rose’s person. “Well, the trying makes it interesting. I am awfully hungry.”

“I have taken on the role of host, it would seem,” Rose mused, her eyes floating upwards as she nonchalantly jutted her neck out in a faux thoughtful manner. “Would you like a taste then?”

“I would be, utterly delighted,” Kanaya said, leaning in to mouth lightly at Rose’s neck. Sharp fang points brushed her skin and Rose sighed, heady with the feeling.

Kanaya drew back, her eyes focusing intently on Rose’s. “Of course, I know nothing of your physiology,” she said, her voice flowing smoothly like silk under skin, and she drew a claw down Rose’s neck delicately. “I mean, you offered this so thoughtfully, but I wouldn’t want to hit a low blood flow area, would I?”

“That would be counter intuitive wouldn’t it,” Rose murmured, her eyes half lidded. She propped one of her feet on the handle of the topmost drawer and leant one elbow on her now raised knee, her skirt falling obligingly down her thigh. Kanaya’s eyes followed the movement, her hand resting almost casually on Rose’s neck. “There’s quite a conveniently large artery along here…”

Kanaya was kneeling even before Rose finished tracing the line of her femoral artery down the inside of her thigh. The hand resting on her neck trailed down her torso to rest on her hip, cool even through her long sleeved shirt. The sharp tips of her fangs were pressed against her skin again, harder this time, poised to bite, and Rose shivered to feel them on sensitive skin, so close to her crotch. Kanaya looked up at her, a silent question in her expression, and Rose nodded.

She bit down, hard.

Rose swore loudly and thunked her fists back on the counter, leaning on them. The painful sensation didn’t last long however, and was almost instantly replaced with the far more interesting feeling of Kanaya’s lips sucking and her tongue lathing the area. She was going to have a hickey on the inside of her thigh, Rose realised giddily.

The hand that wasn’t resting on Rose’s hip ran up her opposite thigh, making her twitch, her breath catching. The pad of one of Kanaya’s fingers traced where her underwear met her skin, the claw trailing after it like an afterthought. Rose leaned forward again and curled a hand behind the curve of Kanaya’s skull.

Kanaya shifted suddenly, mouthing a wet kiss over the front of Rose’s underwear, and Rose hissed, her legs clamping automatically to rest either side of Kanaya’s neck. Kanaya pulled back a moment, startled, and looked up her. “Is this alright?”

Rose nodded eagerly in response. “Yes, yes, it is, please, don’t let me stop you,” she said, breathily, and Kanaya laughed, her claws hooking into the hem of Rose’s underwear.

The feeling of Kanaya’s mouth and tongue, and the ever present hint of fangs, was thoroughly distracting, and Rose bit down on her own hand, moaning into the flesh. Her head snapped around though, startled, when a door slammed just behind her shoulder, footsteps coming inside.

“Hey, Rose, have you seen - OH JESUS _DICKS_!”

A young man was standing just inside the door way next to the bench, tall enough apparently to be able to see what was visible of Kanaya’s head. A plastic bag had dropped to the ground at his feet, and one hand was plastered over his face, which was rapidly turning red where it wasn’t covered. He looked comical, the motion having dislodged the sunglasses he was wearing.

He also looked familiar. She frowned. “Strider?” Kanaya carefully disentangled herself from Rose’s legs, lips bloody, a faint tinge of jade at the tips of her ears.

“Don’t you ‘Strider’ me!” Strider said, flailing a little. “You are in no position to be mad! I don’t even want to think about what position you’re currently in, holy fuck! If either of us is going to be mad it’s going to be me, because hey, guess what! I’m not the one having sex in a _food preparation area_!” He pointed a finger wildly, probably intending to be accusing, but it missed her general direction by about a foot. “Worst! Sister! Ever! We have _bedrooms_ , Rose! With _beds_!” His voice was hitting quite an interesting pitch, she noted. Nice strangled tone.

“You don’t say,” she said, trying to resist the urge to giggle.

Strider made another strangled noise in the back of his throat and darted out of the room, too fast for her to really follow her movements - and wasn’t that odd?

*             *             *

**-turntechGodhead is pestering ectoBiologist!-**

TG: john dude please be online im freaking the fuck out  
TG: come onnnnnnnnnn  
TG: christ what is WITH everyone

**-ectoBiologist is an idle chum!-**

TG: well pbfflfbt to you too

**-turntechGodhead has ceased pestering ectoBiologist!-**

**-turntechGodhead is pestering gardenGnostic!-**

TG: dont tell me  
TG: youre offline too  
GG: don’t quit your day job mister!  
GG: at least rose should be secure knowing her position as team psychic is safe :p  
TG: hahah very funny  
TG: whats john doing he hasnt been online in ages  
GG: im doing just fine thanks! and howre you?  
TG: peachy keen with a side of existential crisis  
TG: can i get kierkegaard on line one pls  
GG: what  
TG: nvm  
TG: press one for a detailed explanation of why im blind  
TG: press two for a rant about hygiene standards  
TG: press three for an emotional meltdown over my sense of self  
GG: holy shit youre not even using stupid names for things this must be serious  
TG: thanks jade youre a shining beacon of friendship and goodness  
GG: i try  
GG: i press one!  
TG: i walked in on kanaya going down on rose in the kitchen  
GG: OH MY GOD  
GG: NOOOOOOOOOOO  
GG: KITCHENS ARE FOR EATING  
TG: well  
GG: heh  
GG: walked into that one :p  
TG: so did i  
GG: pffhahaha  
GG: im going to skip two i have a funny feeling the details will be more of the same  
TG: the kitchen jade  
TG: the motherfucking kitchen  
GG: …  
TG: well pretend i didnt type that  
TG: would you press three already im melting over here  
GG: i think i lost my operator  
GG: :p  
TG: worst  
GG: okay fine you big baby i press three  
TG: fucking thank you  
TG: so ive been having these dreams right  
TG: and its like im me but not me  
TG: and not a doomed dave or davesprite either  
TG: its like im the other me  
TG: the one from dirks universe  
GG: …just dreams?  
TG: so far yeah  
GG: are you SURE?  
TG: what  
TG: yeah im sure  
TG: what arent you telling me  
GG: well everyones been getting them duh!  
TG: i figured  
TG: but also didnt want to accidentally reveal something  
TG: like ‘whoops daves going insane over here better break out the straightjackets’  
TG: break out that electroshock therapy  
TG: wipe those hallucinations straight off my hardrive  
TG: zip me up in one of those tubs with the steam bath and the canvas tent  
TG: therapy forever no hope of escape  
TG: constant diet of little pills  
GG: can you not???  
TG: what  
GG: make fun of it :/  
GG: electro shocks still used like a lot  
GG: and hey some people cant function without pills!  
GG: youre being a dick  
TG: fuck  
TG: sorry  
TG: i panicked a little sorry  
GG: i know  
GG: if i wasn’t used to you by now :p  
TG: i would be mince meat in a little bowl with bec written on the side  
GG: damn straight!  
GG: and yeah everyones been getting them!  
GG: its not just dreams though  
TG: well shit  
TG: how come youre not freaking out  
GG: i don’t know we just kind of roll with it?  
GG: i mean jakes practically indistinguishable from grandpa ANYWAY  
GG: and then the last time nanna and poppop took over at the same time it was SO FUNNY  
GG: its kind of cool seeing what kind of person grandma was too!  
GG: like i was a badass old lady  
GG: i was fully going to kick alien ass  
TG: you do kick alien ass  
TG: on a regular basis  
GG: yeah but im not an eighty year old woman with just an old hunting rifle!  
TG: okay yeah that’s kinda badass  
TG: i should write a script or something about that  
GG: you so should!  
TG: what do you think it means though  
GG: um that im fucking awesome in every universe?  
TG: ha  
TG: true  
GG: itll settle down i think  
GG: its like were being given the chance to find the half of us we missed the first time around  
TG: huh  
GG: shit i gotta go!  
GG: you should try making movies!  
GG: xox!

**-gardenGnostic has ceased pestering turntechGodhead!-**

TG: huh

**-turntechGodhead has ceased pestering gardenGnostic!-**

EB: geeze im online whats the rush!  
EB: ….  
EB: dave?

**-turntechGodhead is an idle chum!-**

EB: oh for fucks sake

*             *             *

                Without looking too closely at the walls, she could almost convince herself she was in a palace. Lalonde strode the long hallway, more than double in her height, and tried not to look too closely at the violet surrounds. It was starting to hurt her head, a love of the colour or not.

                Strider was already seated when she arrived, making a good effort at appearing to lounge over the chair provided, but his neck was locked into place, belying how tense he really was. Lalonde seated herself next to him, the only indicator that she’d startled him being a slight twitch in his knee.

                He inclined his head. “Lalonde.”

                She returned the nod. “Strider.”

                There was a derisive snort from across the table. “ _Wrigglers_.” The Empress’ voice cut through her like whiplash, leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

                Lalonde forced herself to pick up a cup of tea from the table in front of her. It rattled slightly as she brought the saucer up and she willed her hand to stop shaking as she picked it up to take a sip.

                “Is there an actual reason we’re here or did you just want to throw implications all over the place about how big your crotch bits are?” Strider asked blandly, unmoving, though from her side view she could see his eyes flicker over the gaudy throne their hostess was perched on.

                She scowled at them both. “None of yer ship is gonna work minnow,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows. The throne was almost entirely gold, and embossed with clam shapes, Lalonde noted absently. “I’m coming through come shell or hightide.”

                Lalonde shrugged and set the teacup down again. “Of course not, but why make it easy?”

                “It’s hardly a challenging game if we just let you breeze through,” Strider agreed, sardonic, but he shot her an irritated look out the side of his shades. She sneered at him. It wasn’t showing weakness to acknowledge the inevitable, each of them knew what the Empress said was true; there was no point in denying that.

                “Who said I _wanted_ a glubbing challenge,” the Empress snapped, bad tempered, and it was as if her hair moved, like so many floating tendrils of kelp that were actually snakes in the water.

                When she woke up, Lalonde’s sheets were soaked through, and she stared at the ceiling of her room, eyes blank, tears pricking at the corners. She couldn’t stop this, only delay the inevitable. She didn’t need to watch them die in her dreams over and over again to prove that.

*             *             *

The claws combing through his hair were really nice, Dave thought, shifting a little to get comfortable in his position of being half draped over Karkat. Kanaya made a small buzzing noise, chiding him for shifting and losing her place in her finger combing, and Rose laughed, peering over the top of her book and Karkat’s head where he was using her stomach as a cushion.

Karkat was nearly asleep from the feel of things, though Rose’s voice near his ear was a low background murmur for all four of them.

Kanaya got a shifty look and moved to lie alongside Dave. He raised an eyebrow at her, snorting when he thought about how he must look lying near upside down with an eyebrow over shades, but it died in his throat when Kanaya reached out and carefully pulled his shades off.

She picked up one of his hands and squeezed it before pressing it to her cheek and mimicking the motion on his with her own hand. He rubbed his thumb lightly along her cheek bone, and her eyes shut as she let out a soft hum.

There was a shift, and Karkat carefully moved Dave’s legs, laying next to Kanaya on her other side. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of her neck and laid his hand over Dave’s. Rose stopped reading. He didn’t startle when he felt her at his back, only pressed his head into her hands as she started finger combing his hair where Kanaya had left off.

Karkat made a small approving noise and laced his fingers with Dave’s, tracing them down Kanaya’s cheek to cover her neck. She shivered. “Thank you,” she said, in a small voice.

Karkat shook his head and kissed the back of her neck again. Dave laughed, and impulsively leaned in and pecked her cheek. Her eyes opened slowly, a small jade flush tinting her cheekbones, and she returned the gesture.

Rose laughed quietly, then removed her fingers from Dave’s hair to lay across the three of them. Karkat yelped when she placed her hands on his midsection, shoving his shirt up enough, and she laughed. “Hands cold?”

“Were you a block of ice in a previous life?” Karkat grumbled, but he made no move to remove her.

“No, in a previous life I was a reckless woman who wrote books,” Rose said serenely, burying her face into the gap between Kanaya and Karkat. “Or was that a future one?”

“Parallel,” Dave said, resting his hand on the small of her back. She hummed an agreement and stayed where she was. “Not past or future, something we could have had but never did.”

Karkat made a small ‘huh’ noise, and shifted their linked hands to rest over Rose as well. Kanaya made another small noise and buried her face in the crook of Dave’s neck.

They stayed like that a while, shifting every now and then, but never stopping touching each other.

*             *             *

**I hope the garden patch survives.**   
**I included plenty of hardy plants, but if the witch screws with the atmosphere I don’t know that she’ll have enough vegetables.**   
**Oh god, she hasn’t even been born yet and I’m worried about her eating enough greens.**

**id be more worried about drinking all that booze before the apocalypse rocks round**   
**wine keeps lalonde**   
**shell grow up drinking it like apple juice**

**Which doesn’t keep at all.**   
**Have you figured out how to keep him hydrated?**   
**I’ve got a ground water tap and store under the house, but that won’t work for someplace so elevated**

**i got something**

                They were as ready as either of them were going to get. Strider stared over the apartment, chewing the inside of his lip. God, he’d probably missed something, you always did, even with someone like Lalonde on side to make sure they got all the major points. When he caught her sober, at least.

They were running out of time.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will format pesterlogs, but today is not that day.
> 
> WELL THIS GOT OUT OF HAND. I strayed a *little* from the prompt, but I wanted to stay closer to the spirit of the challenge. And wow I just reread the prompt, I strayed a lot I'm so sorry. Hope this makes you smile!


End file.
